


A Night of Memories

by park3rborn



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Also minor Varric because I love him, Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Emotional release, Flashbacks, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Multi, Oneshot, Polyamory, Purple Hawke, The Chantry, fight me on this, incense leads to flashbacks, mainly about sebastian and hawke to be honest, written w da:a anders in mind because da2 anders is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/park3rborn/pseuds/park3rborn
Summary: Varric comes back injured from a mission with the Inquisitor and Hawke is reminded of a lot he's kept repressed. Cole tries to help.Written for a generated prompt of Cole and Hawke and a night of memories and sighs.





	A Night of Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was half falling asleep the 2/3 of the time so I apologize.

It had been a while since he had been “invited” to Skyhold by Varric, and a shorter while since Cassandra had stopped giving him pissed off sidelong glares. He and the Inquisitor had gone out on a few non-Warden related missions together, but for the most part, Hawke had stayed behind. He figured that one of the last things the Inquisitor needed was to be seen with the ex-lover of an ex-Warden and the apostate who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry, especially since many still insisted that the Inquisitor killed the Divine with her own hands. Hawke always knew this was ridiculous because, first off, how could have Inquisitor Cadash even been able to reach the Divine physically to kill her? Regardless, he stayed behind, and staying behind meant spending a lot of time alone. This was usually spent either doing research with Leliana, avoiding Cullen, who arguably was avoiding him just as much, avoiding Cassandra, who constantly lived up to her title as Seeker, or otherwise trying to entertain himself.

The day had been less than pleasant. It had started early in the morning, when the Inquisitor, Varric, Sera, and Scout Harding returned to home from the field. There had been an unexpected darkspawn ambush out on the Storm Coast, and Varric had been pounded backwards by a Hurlock Alpha towards the edge of a steep hill , landing on his hand wrong, at least spraining his wrist. It was just like the Wounded Coast incident with the Revenant, when Anders had stormed off and Hawke had convinced Isabela and Varric to go “spelunking” without him. It had been an absolute disaster, and had Aveline not been on patrol with some of the guard, they may have died out there. In Skyhold, Hawke himself had sprinted to Solas’ room to yank him out of bed to heal Varric. Later that morning, he was cornered by Cassandra after unsuccessfully trying to evade her for the millionth time and was so anxious about Varric’s injuries earlier that he lost all tact and snapped at her with enough ferocity that even passerbys stopped to gawk. She left him alone after that. Ultimately, Varric’s wrist was healed but it still looked like shit, and Hawke spent most of the rest of the day fussing over him like a mother hen.

After dinner, which Hawke had been first in line for in order to get the best for his friend, Varric gently shooed him away, saying it didn’t hurt that bad now, and how he’d manage without him for the night. Hawke ended up in the garden, where he usually avoided because of the nosy Chantry mothers who occupied the space, but found it was mostly empty. The groundskeeper was quietly tending to some of the Inquisitor’s herbs and a few people sat under the pavilion, but most everyone else was out by the kitchen getting food. He found the door to the makeshift Chantry by the smell of incense wafting by the entrance (it was more of a closet with an Andraste statue than a Chantry) and closed it with a heavy sigh. The scent of frankincense was strong, but not quite overwhelming. It was almost comforting, reminding him of home. Of when his mother would quietly tell him and his siblings about their father on the steps of the Chantry in Lothering when they got too rambunctious during the service. It also reminded him of the time that Sebastian had gently led him, index fingers hooked loosely together, into the Chantry in Kirkwall on the rainy afternoon after Bethany died in the Deep Roads. Hawke moved from the door to the padded step in front of the Maker’s bride. He took another slow breath and remembered how he had, listless, been led inside and knelt in that Chantry in Kirkwall and been transported back home by the familiarity of the Chant, memories of togetherness and relative simplicity and whole...  
  
_‘It isn’t easy, remembering.’_

He let himself remember.

It was the first time he had cried in a long, long while. Sebastian’s hand, warm and solid against his back as he laid his head down on his folded hands, releasing some months of grief. His whole body shook, the tremors forcing him to half seat himself on the pew. All of those he lost, everything taken from him, made its way through him and out, his body purging hurts out. _‘It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped a horde of darkspawn by yourself, no matter how hard you tried.’_ He tried to keep quiet. He suddenly remembered the exact moment he knew his brother was dead. The crack of bone, hiss of breath. Bethany’s ragged breathing, the scent of blood mixing with tainted bodies decaying. _‘You have to stop blaming yourself. Neither of them would have wanted that.’_ He wanted to be home and stay and nowhere all at once. By the end, he was exhausted, eyes heavy. Sebastian remained, solid where Anders was hesitant. Gentle and firmly providing support. A lighthouse to keep him from getting too close to the cliff’s face. He remained silent, understanding of Hawke’s boundaries while also offering sympathy.

“The last--” Hawke’s voice caught in his throat, cutting him off with a hoarse whisper. He tried again. “The last time I was in a Chantry was when I lived in Lothering.”

Sebastian moved his hand to the top of Hawke’s, hesitant only out of respect.

“We should go home before it gets dark, Hawke.”

“You’re right.” He was drained.

Anders had been waiting nervously by the door when the two came home, wet, and his eyes darted from Hawke’s exhausted face to the cool blue of Sebastian’s eyes, concern knitting his brow. Sebastian shook his head, wordlessly saying ‘another time’. He understood. Together, Anders and Sebastian led Hawke upstairs to bed, Bodahn and Sandal thankfully otherwise occupied. They managed to change Hawke out of the wet clothes he had on and into his housecoat and trousers and laid him in bed, covering him with a wool blanket that Anders had imbued a while back to provide a gentle weighted pressure, like a giant compression bandage. Hawke rolled to his side and closed his eyes and sighed, almost at peace for the first time in a while. Anders and Sebastian got in bed on either side of him, and Hawke tiredly lifted his head onto Sebastian’s chest. Anders softly rubbing Hawke’s broad shoulders, placing kisses along the back of his neck while Sebastian caressed Hawke’s hair, occasionally catching Anders’ hand and giving it a similarly tender but brief touch before returning to taking care of Hawke. Hawke let out another shaky breath.

“We’re here, love.”

“You’ve been through so much.” Sebastian’s soothing familiar voice changed, higher. Cole.

Hawke returned to the present in somewhat of a daze. Cole sat next to him.

“You’re very brave, Hawke. Most people don’t like to remember. It hurts them.”

“Were you just... manipulating my memories?”

“I helped to make them louder. Did it help?”

“Can you... do it again?”

“Does it help?” Cole was insistent. “It feels like hurt.”

“It’s like a bitter and sweet help. I loved them, Cole. Don’t suppose you know quite what that is, but I loved them.”

“And you love Varric.”

“Differently, but yes, I love Varric.”

“And you were scared when he returned and he was hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes the past should stay away. It can help but if you stay in too long, you can get lost.”

Hawke breathed in the last lingering smell of his room in Kirkwall.

“Maybe you’re right.”


End file.
